The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. "Get ready the irons, Caliban. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. She may address me as “Grandfather” if she chooses, since I’m obliged to accept her in that capacity. I was always used to it, and I think it gives quite a tone to an establishment. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. He might solve the riddle. CHAPTER XXXII. You might even tire of me by then, you know.
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